


Oh, My Tongue is a Weapon

by lforevermore



Series: Young Gods [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, But everyone knows they're being manipulated, Gavin Free as a Trickster God, Gavin Free as the Golden Boy, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Manipulation, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a club bathroom, Submissive Gavin, Verbal Humiliation, mild breathplay, mild choking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: In which Gavin is a young trickster god who weaves a tangled web, Michael is a young god of war, Ryan is a young god of death, and Geoff is a benevolent old god (at least when it comes to Gavin and the rest of his crew).





	Oh, My Tongue is a Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> In the first part, we have some Michael/Gavin. In the second part, there will be Ryan/Gavin. And in the third, Geoff/Michael/Ryan/Gavin.
> 
> Follow at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

It goes like this:

Gavin has a silver tongue and knows how to wield it. He doesn’t mean to use it on his friends – it comes naturally, no switch to turn it off. He is manipulative, he is impulsive, he is a trickster god in his fiery youth trying to navigate the muddy waters of the mortal world.

Ryan is darkness – there’s no light at the end of the tunnel for the Vagabond. Instead of words he wields a weapon, a knife, a gun, a rock if it comes down to it. He is methodical and he is murderous, darkness and death wrapped around him like a cloak. He is a god of death in his youth, enjoying the power that he commands over the lives of the mortals around him.

Michael would do well on a battlefield, in the thick of things, covered in blood and raising a war cry to the sky. He loves the fire, loves the fight, loves the feeling of flesh beneath his knuckles and bones bending to his will. He is a god of war, Gavin thinks often when he thinks of such things, and his enemies will rue every day they walked this earth, the path that led them to cross Michael’s.

The last player in Gavin’s little game is Geoff.

Geoff is an old god – not the oldest, as far as Gavin knows, but not as young as the rest of his crew. Geoff is a little bit of everything – a manipulator, an angel of death, a harbinger of war. He is the fire of whiskey burning down your throat, he is the derisive laugh you hear before you die. Most of the time, he points the Vagabond or Michael at a target and lets the chaos overwhelm the world around him. He lets himself be manipulated, Gavin knows, sees right through Gavin’s games and indulges him nonetheless. He is dangerous – it’s the only word that Gavin can ascribe to him in this manner.

 

Gavin doesn’t fuck his way _through_ the crew. Gavin is a hedonist, enjoys the pleasure that life can bring, knows how to drown himself in it and make himself feel _good_. So instead of fucking through the crew, he commits himself to them – knows that these immortal beings can bring him more pleasure than a mortal ever could. It’s a bit of wisdom that Geoff gave him early on, one that Gavin’s proven time and again to be true.

For a long time, it’s just the two of them, Geoff and Gavin. Geoff indulges Gavin’s need to be the center of attention, and Gavin makes Geoff feel young again (he thinks, anyway – Geoff never reveals too much). But eventually, Gavin gets… restless – not bored, he could never be bored of Geoff. It’s just his nature, to want something new and exciting, and Geoff is benevolent and indulgent when it comes to Gavin.

He also has a solution, one that Gavin had thought of many times, but always dismissed as a far-fetched idea. But Geoff, _Geoff_ can make it work.

 

It starts like this:

Gavin brushes up against Michael in a club, shimmering gold in the lights. He’s dressed to _fuck_ , tight pants and a sheer shirt, eyeliner, and gold-tinted glasses perched on top of his head. Michael isn’t immune to Gavin in any way – he’s noticed the way that Michael looks at him, want lingering on Gavin’s skin like a tangible thing from Michael’s eyes.

And, oh, Gavin loves to be wanted.

So he presses himself to Michael on the dance floor and grinds his hips with the music, until he’s sure that the hard line pressing against his thigh is Michael’s and that Michael can feel his own want in return. Michael’s hands grip Gavin’s waist, essentially ensuring that Gavin can’t escape, can’t back away with a laugh and a devious smile.

Michael has always worn his desire on his sleeve.

Gavin presses his lips in an open mouth kiss to Michael’s neck, once and then again, until one of Michael’s hands flies up to fist in Gavin’s hair and pull him into a violent, biting facsimile of a kiss. When Gavin can pull away, sure that he tastes blood, Michael doesn’t let him go far – just a short distance, so that breath is still shared between them.

“I thought you were Geoff’s,” Michael murmurs, voice low and rough.

“I can be yours too,” Gavin replies. “Geoff has… lengthened my leash.”

Michael says nothing more, but his hand is a vice grip around Gavin’s wrist as he drags him toward the back, toward the bathrooms. The bartenders and the bouncers all notice, but say nothing – they’re on Geoff’s payroll, after all, they’re practically paid to ignore Gavin’s shenanigans.

He shoves Gavin inside in front of him, keeps him moving forward until Gavin’s pressed up against the sink. For a heated moment, they just stare at each other, interrupted only by the door opening to reveal a very drunk patron of the club stumbling in.

Michael turns his head, drags his eyes away from Gavin slowly, arms caging Gavin in so that the golden boy can’t run. “Get out,” he says lowly, to the intruder. When the man doesn’t move, he bares his teeth in a guttural growl. “ _Get. Out!_ ”

Finally the man backs out, the door banging closed behind him.

“Throw the lock,” Gavin says, and knows that Michael is a voyeur, knows that Michael will want people to see, knows that Michael wants to know he’s in control of the situation.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Michael snarls, just as Gavin knew he would.

Gavin _can_ be dominant, is the thing, and has before, but the delicious sensation of submission, of giving into another man (for a given definition of the word anyway) is one that he craves. He’s got just as much power here as Michael and knows it, but he allows Michael to call the shots, will _allow_ Michael to take him apart.

“You could always take me home,” Gavin practically purrs. “Lay me out on a bed, hell, _tie_ me to the bed if you want.”

“Oh, I’m going to.” Michael’s response is to press himself even closer to Gavin, trapping him against the cold ceramic of the sink. “After I fuck you here.”

“Impatient bastard,” Gavin says fondly, and his reward is a hand gripping his chin in an iron hold, tilting his head to the perfect angle for another biting kiss.

Michael’s hand slides down to grip Gavin’s throat, restricting his breathing just enough that Gavin can hear his every breath, and the arousal in the air is tantalizing. The hand that’s clutching the sink drags down Gavin’s side, bruising thumbs and searching fingers, until they slide into the tight pocket of Gavin’s jeans.

“If you’re looking for lube,” Gavin says, with a wicked grin, “we don’t need it.”

The hand on Gavin’s throat clamps over his mouth, and Michael forcibly turns the golden god to face the cracked mirror above the sink. Gavin gets a glimpse of himself – eyes blown wide and eyeliner smudged, lips bruised from rough kisses and fingerprint marks already on the skin of his neck and jaw. The narcissist in him preens – he looks good ravished.

Michael’s hands work at the button of his pants, peeling them down Gavin’s thighs. Rough hands part the cheeks of Gavin’s ass. “You little _whore_ ,” Michael says, and sounds like he’s seething. Gavin wonders if he always sounds angry when he’s turned on, or if it’s a special mix of annoyance and arousal just for him.

Michael doesn’t waste any time, instead gripping the plug that Gavin had prepared himself with, and giving it a sharp twist. Gavin gasps, hands flying to grip the sink, and marvels at the picture that he makes in the mirror. Michael does it again, this time pulling the plug out, and Gavin can’t help the moan that escapes him.

“You come to me,” Michael says, low and dangerous, his hand coming up to press Gavin’s cheek into the mirror with rough fingers in his hair, “done up like some cheap whore – already wet and gagging for it. I should leave you here, desperate for it. You’d probably beg the next son of a bitch who walks in for a fuck, wouldn’t you?”

“Michael,” Gavin breathes, can see his breath ghosting on the spiderweb cracks of the mirror. “ _Please_.”

The feeling of a hand leaves his hip, and he can hear the sound of Michael opening his jeans, the rustle of cloth that indicates Michael’s about to give Gavin exactly what he wants. Then, the hand leaves his hair, and Gavin can pull his head away from the mirror. He glances over his shoulder to see Michael just watching him, and knows then that Michael is caught.

“Please,” Gavin says again, tries to spread his legs wider in his tight, tight pants.

“Slut,” Michael says, and this time all the annoyance is gone – he sounds fond, for a moment – and then his hand is back on Gavin’s hip, and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock to Gavin’s open and willing entrance. Gavin tosses his head and presses back as much as he can with one of Michael’s hands between his shoulder blades, keeping him in place.

Michael fucks like he does everything else. He’s rough and demanding, a little abrasive, and his hands dig into Gavin’s skin to press bruises there that probably won’t fade for days. It’s easy to give himself over to the pleasure, the drag and slide of Michael’s cock inside of him, the sight of himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t even pause when the door opens again, hand flying up to keep Gavin’s head in place, staring forward. The shocked gasp and the scramble of someone getting back out the door is hard to miss, followed by Michael’s derisive laughter.

“Let ‘em all come in,” Michael growls, and Gavin groans – is about to come without a hand on his cock. “Let ‘em see who you belong to, what a fucking whore you are.”

“Michael,” Gavin manages, and Michael releases his hair, lets Gavin drop his head and allow himself to be _fucked_ , hands gripping the sink and eyes darting up to see what a picture he makes in the mirror.

Michael, for all his brutish behavior, is as observant as ever, and chuckles again. “Narcissist,” he says, and a hand curls around Gavin’s chin, lifting his face. “Always have to look pretty, don’t you? You want to watch, then watch.” His rhythm doesn’t falter even as he lets go of Gavin’s hip to wrap his hand around Gavin’s cock, stripping it in time with his own thrusts.

Gavin comes like that, eyes on himself in the mirror, one of Michael’s hands on his throat, and the other wrapped around his cock. Michael finally loses a little of his composure, letting out a low moan, and leans forward to clamp his teeth into Gavin’s shoulder, draping himself across Gavin’s back in a possessive, sweaty hold.

 

Later, in Michael’s bed, after Michael’s spent himself again and Gavin is wearing a ring of bruises around his neck and a few more bite marks, Gavin finds himself studying a sleepy Michael with his head on Gavin’s chest.

“What are you planning?” Michael murmurs, opening one eye to look at Gavin. “Or, rather, what are you and Geoff planning?”

Gavin laughs. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” he says. “But I’ll tell you you’ll enjoy it.”

“Someday, Gavin, you’re going to be the death of me.” Michael closes his eye, presses the crown of his head into where Gavin is gently petting him, and drifts off to sleep.


End file.
